Rehab

by Marcus Bryan

own prejudices into our subjects; we just give them the means to choose their beliefs for themselves. The man that Subject 53M becomes could go out and bomb somewhere else; there would be nothing to stop him making that choice again, but thanks to us, there would be no more chance of that than with any random person off the street. Perhaps even less, because he’d leave this facility with a far better education than the average person on the street.’

  Again, there was silence. The pair entered into the next chamber, which had rehabilitation area stamped on the door. Carrington barged through ahead of Landsmann. The doctor eyed him suspiciously as she followed.

  ‘I should’ve been able to show you the later stages of the rehabilitation process now,’ she explained. ‘It takes around two months, with each of our six teams only focusing on one subject at a time, but due to circumstances beyond my control, for the last two months my team has been without a rehab patient. However, I’d be happy to take you through the equipment,’ she added, the word “happy” coming out with a twinge of sarcasm, ‘and give you an overview of how the process works; how we re-implant the most basic of human thought patterns first, using a mixture of specialised pharmaceuticals and targeted nerve stimulation-’

  ‘I don’t much care how it works,’ Carrington interrupted. ‘I’m sure it’s every bit as barbaric as what I’ve already seen. I’ve been sent here to find out if it works.’

  ‘All our tests thus far have indicated success,’ Landsmann returned.

  ‘And what’s to say that Appleton back there won’t start to remember his old life within a year of getting out? What’s to say that nothing is going to suddenly trigger the dormant memories in his brain? What’s to say that he won’t end up like those other people you’ve already sent off to the lunatic asylum?’

  ‘It’s impossible to know for now. Understandably, we haven’t discovered any means of conducting tests inside the lab that provide quite the, erm, rigour of real life. However, our research suggests-’

  Carrington waved a hand; a triumphant smirk suddenly crept up one side of his face.

  ‘Thank you, doctor. That will be all. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a meeting with your superior, Dr Reinhardt, to get to. Would you please show me to his office?’

  ‘By all means,’ Landsmann replied, trying to rearrange her gritted teeth into something approaching a smile.

  ‘You slipped up there, you know; telling me about your inability to find a barometer of your success,’ Carrington called from behind the doctor as she led him, as quickly as possible, to Dr Reinhardt’s office. ‘Or your failure, as the case may be.’

  ‘I’m a scientist, Carrington. We tend to prefer the truth to fiction,’ she grunted back, not breaking her stride. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  II

  Landsmann knocked at the door.

  ‘Dr Landsmann?’

  ‘Yes, Dr Reinhardt, it’s me. I’ve got Mr Carrington here.’

  ‘Then by all means, come in.’

  Reinhardt sat behind a large walnut desk. The carpet, walls and lighting in his office combined to give the whole room an amber glow, in stark contrast to the sterile atmosphere of the laboratory. Without waiting for an invitation, Carrington took his place in one of the chairs opposite him. Landsmann made to leave.

  ‘Actually, Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind joining us,’ Reinhardt said. Landsmann tutted, but she obeyed the command and slumped down on the seat next to the inspector.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Carrington. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’ Reinhardt held out his hand, and the inspector shook it. He did not, however, repay the compliment. Reinhardt did not seem fazed.

  ‘How did you find Ms Landsmann?’ he asked.

  ‘Quite detestable, to be frank.’ Carrington had found his confidence again, now that he was out of the lab and back onto his own turf; the meeting room. Landsmann rolled her eyes, making sure that Dr Reinhardt saw her do it. ‘But she did provide me with one interesting piece of information,’ the government inspector added.

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘That you people have no idea whether this macabre spectacle even works! As far as I can see, this place is nothing more than a torture chamber! And that, Dr Reinhardt, is precisely the report which I plan to deliver to the cabinet ministers tomorrow. This place will be shut down within two months.’ In the face of Carrington’s animated performance, Reinhardt stayed placid.

  ‘Actually, Mr Carrington, I think you’ll find you’re mistaken in that respect.’

  ‘In what respect?’ the inspector stammered, casting a wary eye at the two large men behind him. He recognised one of them as Barney. He stood quickly up from his chair.

  ‘If you would calm down for a moment, I shall explain,’ said Reinhardt. ‘You are mistaken in your claim that we do not have the evidence to confirm this process’ efficacy. In fact, we conducted an experiment this very afternoon which demonstrates that our subjects, even straight out of rehabilitation, are firmly entrenched in their new identities and are resistant enough that even the most blatant triggers will not cause a subject to relapse into their old self.’

  Landsmann, who until that moment had been looking rather bored, suddenly sat up in her chair.

  ‘You figured out a test? What did you do?’

  Reinhardt smiled at her.

  ‘The goals of the experiment were twofold. Firstly, we had to prove that an uninformed observer would not be able to spot any residual signs of the conditioning process in a subject who was clear of rehabilitation. Secondly, we needed to prove that presenting the subject with stimuli from their old life would not trigger any latent recall; essentially, we needed to prove that the old memories had been removed, not replaced.’

  Carrington gave a snort of laughter.

  ‘So, what; you’ve got one of them a fast-food job?’

  Reinhardt didn’t laugh.

  ‘Not quite.’

  He removed a photograph from his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the table, facing Carrington and Landsmann. Looking up at them was a fresh-faced, smiling man, somewhere in his twenties. A hand was resting on his shoulder.

  ‘53M?’ said Landmann, in a confused voice. ‘But he’s not even out of isolation yet.’

  ‘His name is Appleton,’ Carrington hissed.

  ‘It was Arlington, actually,’ corrected Reinhardt. ‘But you’re quite right, Dr Landsmann; it was not 53M that took part in this experiment.’ He tapped his finger on the hand wrapped around Arlington’s shoulders. ‘It was his wife; 12F. Poppy Arlington.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that we had any female subjects in the facility at the moment,’ replied Landsmann, creases appearing on her brow. Reinhardt gave Carrington a meaningful glance, and the inspector suddenly understood. Reinhardt’s words played over in his head:

  …even the most blatant triggers will not cause a subject to relapse into their old self.

  Reinhardt seemed to read Carrington’s mind. He reached into his suit jacket again and removed another photo.

  ‘Even irrefutable evidence will not cause a subject to relapse,’ he said.

  He placed the next photograph on the table, so that it lined up with the first one. Dr Landsmann stared at herself for a moment, standing, smiling, with her arm around Danny Arlington’s shoulders. Suddenly she erupted, jerking to her feet with such force her chair was sent tipping backwards.

  ‘What is this?’ she demanded from no-one in particular. Barney closed in behind her.

  ‘Greta, please be calm...’ he said, slowly.

  ‘That’s right! Greta! Greta Landsmann! Doctor Greta Landsmann!’

  Reinhardt didn’t react. He spoke to Carrington, continuing to affix him with a pregnant gaze.

  ‘Precisely. Poppy Arlington no longer exists. The body that once belonged to her now belongs to Dr Landsmann.’

  Landsmann leaned on the table and bellowed:

  ‘Are you this desperate for funding? That you’d try set me up with som
e tenth-rate bit of photo manipulation? We’ve worked together for three years, Eric!’

  Reinhardt closed his eyes.

  ‘Less than a week. I know it’s painful to hear, Greta, but it’s true. Believe me; I wouldn’t have put you through this if there was any other way to show the ministers the value of the research we are conducting. You said it yourself; we’ve been forced to do terrible things, but by doing them we can give people like Poppy Arlington a second chance. A second life.’

  ‘There is no Poppy Arlington! There never was! There’s only me!’ Landsmann shrieked. She lunged for the pen on Reinhardt’s desk, but Barney quickly restrained her. Carrington, who had fled to the opposite side of the room, decided to join in the shouting match.

  ‘That’s enough, Reinhardt! Get her out of here, now!’

  The man behind the desk opened his eyes once again.

  ‘Very well. Gentlemen, please escort the doctor to the isolation chambers.’

  ‘NO!’ Landsmann yelped. Barney mouthed the words along with her.

  ‘I’m afraid I must insist, Barney,’ Reinhardt replied in a very deliberate tone. Landsmann turned, wild-eyed, towards Carrington.

  ‘Please! You can’t do this to me! I’m not her! I’m not her!’ Carrington could still hear those same three words screaming through the corridors of the facility, long after Landsmann was dragged out of the office.

  I’m not her! I’m not her! I’m not-

  Then, suddenly, silence. Carrington watched as Reinhardt carefully pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket and dabbed his forehead with it.

  ‘Goodbye, Greta,’ he muttered under his breath. He gazed at the floor for just a moment, then turned his eyes back towards Carrington. ‘By the by,’ he said, ‘we can provide you with plenty of evidence which disproves Dr Landsmann’s claims of sabotage.’

  ‘I’m sure you can.’

  They sat in silence for a minute.

  ‘So, Mr Carrington, I suppose there’s little else for you to see. Before you leave, though, I must ask you one last thing: Will you still be trying to convince the ministers to abandon our project?’

  They sat in silence for a minute more.

  ‘Forgive my curiosity. I’m a scientist; it tends to get the better of us,’ Reinhardt explained.

  ‘It’s not up to me whether you receive the funding. If the project is showing signs of success, the ministers will vote to continue with it,’ Carrington finally replied, in a defeated voice.

  ‘Very well,’ Reinhardt replied. ‘I look forward to receiving a copy of your report. Barney will show you back through security when he returns.’ With that, he got up from his chair and walked around the desk, towards the door.

  ‘Wait!’ Carrington suddenly burst out. Reinhardt remained inside the room, but he didn’t turn around.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Before I leave, I have to ask you something.’

  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘What’s to say that, one day, you won’t be called into a meeting with your superior, and you won’t find out that they’ve done the same thing to you as you’ve done to that Arlington girl?’

  ‘Nothing, Mr Carrington,’ Reinhardt replied. ‘Nothing is to say that.’